


I Could Have Been Yours

by whothehellisbuckeroo



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:02:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9645509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whothehellisbuckeroo/pseuds/whothehellisbuckeroo
Summary: While flying to New York City for work, you stumble upon a movie set and end up in a whirlwind summer romance that can only end badly for both parties involved.





	1. Something Left

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sort of prologue for the fic. This is my first fic, so please read with that in mind. In the first chapter here, Ben is mentioned and introduced but not a large part. Enjoy!

It was getting harder and harder to ignore the large man sitting next to you.  
The airplane had been airborne for two hours already, and you didn't think you could suffer for two more. His hand alarmingly close to your thigh, he snored on, his head drooping closer and closer to your shoulder with each breath. He didn't appear to be exceedingly familiar with the concept of personal hygiene either- large clumps of dandruff had fallen around his collar and it seemed that he had never been near deodorant in his life.  
You looked wistfully over at the row of seats next to you. Sitting in the aisle seat had its advantages, but the row beside you had two empty seats. A man sat in the window seat, his head turned towards the sky and his back to you.  
You turned back to the large man, and noticed a trail of drool leading down his shirt that hadn't been there before. You shuddered.  
'Right, that's it,' you thought to yourself, unbuckling your seatbelt and snatching your purse from under the seat in front of you.  
"Excuse me?" you whispered, careful not to wake the large man and other snoozing passengers.  
"Mmm?" The man turned towards you, and your heart skipped a beat. He wore sunglasses and a cap, but his cheekbones were chiseled and his lips were full- he was definitely easy on the eyes.  
"Mind if I join you? My... friend over there was getting a bit too close for my comfort," you said, gesturing behind you.  
The man laughed, took his sunglasses off, and swept his arm out. "Be my guest."  
Your heart skipped another beat. He was British, too? This day was full of surprises. 

After ten minutes or so, you put your phone down. Work was demanding, but you refused to pay for wifi. You glanced over at the British man, and were surprised to notice he was looking at you, too. As soon as he saw you staring, he turned away and seemed to chuckle to himself. Now seemed as good a time as any to introduce yourself, anyway.  
"I'm Y/N," you said, awkwardly reaching out to shake his hand. "Just flying to New York for work."  
The British man took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. It was short and dark, and had curls running through it. "I'm Benedict. Benedict Cumberbatch, but you can call me Ben."  
"Oh my gosh!" Your jaw dropped to the floor. "Oh my gosh, you're the guy! From the show!"  
He chuckled. "I suppose I am."  
"No, oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry to be like this-" you bit your lip to keep from saying anything else that might embarrass you further.  
"It's completely fine." He reached out and shook your hand, which you had forgotten to put down again after the shock of hearing who he was (not that he needed to shake it- it was shaking enough on its own).  
"So," you mumbled, trying to forget your awkward fangirling, "flying economy, are we?"  
"Just because I can pay for something doesn't mean I want to," he quipped, "and besides, I like flying coach. First class people are too uppity, and it keeps me humble. I hope."  
"I'm sure it's working," you responded, cringing at the sound of your laughter. It sounded fake and weak, like it always did in the presence of someone important. Of course, you didn't know he was important- not yet.

 

 

It was dark outside by the time the plane touched down in New York, and because of the time difference from California you didn’t expect to be tired, but your energy was fading. The summer breeze floated down and mussed up your hair, which was already slicked back from the sweat around your hairline. The airport was surprisingly quiet, and despite the stigma around New York, there wasn’t a taxi in site. You had chosen a very secluded spot to exit the airport, but it was a bit mysterious. Clicking through the app on your phone, you called a cab and sat on your suitcase, wiping the sweat from your upper lip and tucking your sweater into your purse.  
“Hey! Excuse me, miss!” A young security guard wearing all black ran up to you, waving his hand. You noticed the sweat stains around his armpits and grimaced inwardly.  
“Yes?” You stood up, clutching your purse in your hand and setting your sweater on the bench next to you.  
“You can’t be here. I don’t know how you got here, but—” He slowed to a stop in front of you, gasping slightly for breath.  
“Oh, I’m sorry. If you don’t mind me asking, why..?”  
“They’re filming something here and we just used this space as pickup but we had extra room or something and so we let them use it…” You could see it slowly dawn on the young man that he wasn’t supposed to be saying all this, but he kept talking, only trailing off at the very end.  
“Oh, right.” You rolled your suitcase through the doors and up around the staircase, just now noticing the signs telling people that this part of the airport had been reserved. ‘Must have been calling the taxi,’ you thought to yourself, ‘huh.’ 

When you finally got to the entrance of the airport, you felt the overwhelming rush of people and the heat of the crowd swelled, making you sweat even more. As you sat on an empty bench, an email popped up from your boss, asking if you had landed safely and if they should send a cab.  
“Yes, please,” you wrote, “and what hotel am I staying at?” You sent the email right away, too tired to proofread or even give it a second glance. The response came almost immediately, with an assertion of your cab and a cryptic message about a “nice hotel where you can measure your craft.” What was your craft? Was it journalism? Editing? Generally being awkward? You couldn’t tell. 

Once you were in the cab, you forgot everything that had happened that day. From you spilling your coffee before you got on the plane this morning (not on yourself, thank god) to the man on the plane, the only thing on your mind was work. After you had been too frugal to pay for wifi and tucked your phone into your purse, it had stayed there, and you knew there were at least fifty emails that needed your attention. The taxi stopped in front of the Beekman Hotel, and you stared.  
“Are you sure I’m here?” you timidly asked the cab driver, who only grunted his answer.  
He grabbed your suitcase out of the trunk and mumbled, “they’ll deliver your other case tomorrow. Night miss.”  
You tipped him, picked up your bag and purse, and headed in. 

Once inside, the lobby greeted you with a blast of cold air. A bellboy swooped in and grabbed your bag, setting it on a luggage cart. You nodded at him and clutched your arms around your body, shivering slightly.  
“Hi, I’m just checking in.” You marched up to the front desk, where a lady in thick glasses and pearls was tapping at a computers.  
“But of course,” the lady smiled, checking your identification and sliding a room key across the counter. “Room 616 on the seventh floor is all yours. The bar is already paid for, and there’s a note here saying that the gift basket is all yours, too.”  
You smiled graciously at her, and turned toward the bellboy, who had already whisked away your luggage. As you waited for the elevator, your phone dinged with another email from your boss.  
“How’s the hotel?” it read. “Get a good night’s sleep, we’ll need you bright and early tomorrow.”  
You shivered and reached around your waist for you sweater, but it wasn’t there. Had you put it in your suitcase? No, you hadn’t opened it since this morning… You remembered setting it on the bench by the deserted exit and frowned. ‘Damn,’ you thought.  
“The hotel is lovely. The Beekman? Wow! But I think I left my sweater at the airport.” You hit send right as the elevator dinged.  
Did your boss have superhuman responding skills? Your phone chimed again.  
“No, get it first thing tomorrow. Preferably before eight, I scheduled you for a meeting at nine. Remember, sleep!!!”  
Once you opened the door, you couldn’t argue with the three exclamation points after ‘sleep’. You threw your purse on the chair, climbed into bed, and let sleep fold over you like a warm blanket.


	2. Something Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting at the airport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 100 hits already?! Wow! Although as I was looking through the previous chapter, I noticed a typo in the summary! Argh! Enjoy this short section!

You woke up to the sound of your alarm blaring in your ear. With a start, you realized two things: one, it was set for eight o’clock (and you had a meeting at nine), and two, you hadn’t plugged it in to charge last night, leaving it with 9% battery. You swore quietly, plugged it into your portable charger, and shoved it in your purse, leaping out of the bed and hurriedly tying your hair up in a bun. 

Making sure you had your key, you called a taxi and took the elevator downstairs, where New York City was awake and bustling. A vendor was selling crepes on the sidewalk and you bought one without a second thought, not caring about the cost. Stepping into the taxi, holding your crepe with one hand and your purse in the other, you felt like the epitome of a young businesswoman on a trip to NYC. 

After paying the fare and arriving at the airport, you walked quickly through the crowds of people to the deserted entrance you had left the night before. A security guard stood blocking the door and you hoped it was the same young guy from last night. 

“Excuse me?” You approached him cautiously, your heels clicking on the tile floor. He turned around. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t be here. This section of the airport is blocked off—” He held his hands on his hips and you peered around him trying to see if your sweater was still where you left it. 

Outside, the entrance was crowded with people and cameras and two trailers with their doors wide open. Living in LA, you should have gotten used to seeing movie sets, and being a reporter, you should have gotten used to being in the presence of movie stars, but it still made your stomach jump with excitement every time. A man wearing a headset held two cups of coffee in his hands and a script in his mouth, and you giggled. 

“Ma’am, unless you have a pass, I can’t let you through.” The security guard crossed his arms and stood in front of the door, blocking your view of the bench. 

“I think I left my sweater here last night, I’m sorry,” you apologized, clutching your purse and shuffling your feet. 

“That is impossible, nobody was allowed here last night, there was a security guard here. Don’t try to sneak onto movie sets, it doesn’t work.” 

“I’m not trying to sneak onto movie sets, I’m telling the truth! I was here last night, and then the security guard came running along here, and I left my sweater on the bench right there!” 

The guard turned, and the bench came into view. Your sweater was gone. Heart sinking, you turned back to the guard. 

“I guess it’s gone…” It had been your favorite sweater and you had been planning on wearing it to your big meeting with your boss. 

“Sorry, ma’am, there’s nothing I can do.” He turned and waited for you to go, his arms crossed once again. You sighed and turned around, shivering and taking out your phone to call a cab. Heels clicking sadly on the tile floor, you heard a voice call out behind you.

“Y/N! Wait!” Turning around, you gasped in surprise, your hand flying to your mouth. Standing there, holding your sweater, was Benedict Cumberbatch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this (short) chapter and I'll update soon! xx


	3. Something Offered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter at the airport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've realized it's a lot easier for me to write in short bursts, so sorry if the chapters are a little short for your liking. I'll hopefully be updating more frequently, but here is chapter three!

Your heels clicked rapidly as you hurried over to get your sweater. Your heart fluttered- Benedict Cumberbatch was holding your sweater!! 

“Thank you, sir!” You switched your purse to your other hand and reached out, but he pulled the light sweater back with a smirk. 

“Sir? I thought we were past that.” 

“I’m sorry, it’s kind of engrained because of my job,” you half-giggled, half-cringed. 

“No, it’s fine Y/N, don’t worry,” he laughed, chuckling at your awkwardness. His blue button down pulled at its buttons, and you silently hoped that the top one would just give up. He handed the sweater over and his finger hovered near yours, and you relished in the warmth that resonated from it. “So, can you hang around set?” 

You paused. Had he just invited you onto set? No, that couldn’t be happening. But he had? Did he even have that authority? It didn’t matter, you couldn’t, anyway. Stupid meeting, damn it all to hell. 

“I can’t, I wish I could. I have a meeting.” You frowned slightly, trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t worth it to blow off the meeting. 

His smile faded slightly but then he ran his fingers threw his hair and smiled again. “Just stop by after, okay? We had to shoot a sunrise scene but we’ll be done for a few hours… I’ll be here so…” he trailed off, and it sounded like he was trying to not sound to desperate (you had sounded exactly the same so many times before) although you weren’t sure why he would be desperate- he had a wife and kids, and even so, he was Benedict Cumberbatch, loved and revered by women all over the world. He wouldn't want you… 

Your self conscious thoughts filled your head- fat ugly stupid horrible dumb idiot worthless- before he finally spoke again. 

“Y/N? Does that sound ok? Are you there?” Benedict reached his hand out towards you and you pulled away. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I don’t know. I guess, maybe, I don’t know!” You rubbed your temples and he looked on, worried. 

“That’s alright, Y/N. It’s not a big deal,” he mumbled, looking worried. 

“It is a big deal!” you interjected forcefully. “It’s not everyday that someone is invited to come onto a movie set with Benedict Cumberbatch,” you added, trying to make light of your earlier statement. 

“Alright,” he rubbed his chin, his brow still scrunched in worry and concentration. “Stop by if you can, but please don’t worry about it. Seriously.” 

“Ok.” You breathed in deeply and sighed. “I’ll try.” 

“And Y/N?” You turned towards him and fingered the sleeve of your sweater. “Please take care of yourself.” 

It was like he could see right through you. You sighed again and nodded, straightening your back into a power stance. “I will try, sir.”

“Sir?” 

“Ben.” Saying his name made a shiver go down your spine, and you saw the ghost of a smile curve on his lips. “I will try to, Ben.” 

“Please do.” He tipped his cap slightly and you laughed. “Have a good meeting, Y/N.” 

‘Always the gentleman,’ you thought, and nodded again. “I will try to do that, too. See you later, perhaps.” 

“Perhaps,” he replied.

As you turned and walked away, you could feel his eyes on your back. You could hear his smile and smell his laughter, and you could almost taste the sound of your name on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me for another chapter! Hope you enjoyed it. xx

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments and feedback you may have is greatly appreciated! Thank you to anyone reading! <3


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